


You see through my hardened face

by theperipheral



Series: Canon divergence [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clexa Week 2017, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, alie who?, post 307 minus THAT bit, they just have a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10068317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theperipheral/pseuds/theperipheral
Summary: Clexa Week 2017 - day 5, alternate canon/canon divergenceThe blockade works and the grounders have come to Arkadia to negotiate terms. Clarke and Lexa begin to come to terms with the fact that they can't escape their feelings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I said I'd be back today with something more substantial...
> 
> Fair warning - Lexa was still shot, but y'know, she's fine because there are healers in Polis and Clarke's not the kind of idiot to just pour water over a gunshot wound and call it a day.

It’s been two months since they’ve seen each other, and when Lexa’s entourage approaches Arkadia’s main gate, Clarke has trouble holding herself back. She wants to vault up onto the commander’s horse and ride together somewhere quiet where they can talk at their own pace. Unfortunately, their current situation doesn’t allow it.

When the hum and creak of the electric gate opening reaches Clarke’s ears, she gathers her thoughts and stands a little taller. Her stance is tense and she jumps when Kane’s hand taps her left shoulder. She looks up at him and he smiles reassuringly.

“We can start rebuilding trust today,” he says with a small nod. Clarke resists the urge to reply with _again_ , and looks away. Instead, she swallows on nothing and resets her gaze on the figure at the head of the entering delegation.

“We need to do better this time.”

She’s not exactly sure if she’s thinking about Skaikru or herself and Lexa.

As the heavy warhorse approaches, it’s easier to see that Lexa has come in her full commander regalia, war paint and all. After all that has happened, it seems she has decided that the intimidation she used when Skaikru and Trikru first clashed is still necessary. Her sword is within easy reach at her hip and a shield hangs from her saddle. There are doubtless other concealed weapons on her person. She doesn’t look at all like the frail woman Clarke left behind, recovering from a bullet not meant for her.

A few feet in front of the welcoming party, the mounted group comes to a stop. Clarke is face to face with Indra’s horse, and Lexa looks down at Kane from her seat. After a moment, she slides from the saddle and hands the lead reins to the warrior next to her.

“Chancellor, it is good to see you,” the commander speaks, her voice void of emotion. In her eyes, there is a barely perceptible hint of amusement that Clarke feels only she picks up on. _Chancellor, then not, and then Chancellor again,_ Clarke thinks to herself, wondering how each role has moulded Kane into the person he is now.

Kane has extended his arm in the traditional grounder way, and Lexa grasps it, one warrior to another. There’s a moment where it feels like that’s all the greeting there will be, but then Lexa turns to Clarke and nods gently.

“It is good to see you too, Clarke,” she says, more quietly.

“And you, commander,” Clarke replies with a slight incline of her head. Her fingers flex with the desperation to at least offer her own arm, but she manages to remain still. She’s fighting with herself to not just reach out and neaten a smudge of paint on Lexa’s cheek.

The moment passes and Kane gestures to the other people in the welcoming group. In turn, Lexa greets them all, members of the newest iteration of the council and heads of various departments she has no knowledge of. She maintains stoic politeness throughout.

At last, when the waiting warriors have been shifting uncomfortably in their saddles for a while, Kane calls for someone to show the grounder delegation where to set up their tents. As a show of unprecedented trust, they have been allocated an area within Arkadia’s walls.

Lexa sends a number of her companions off and follows Skaikru into the remnants of the Ark. Clarke falls naturally into step beside her and it feels familiar, like the many times they have walked purposefully together towards some important goal. This time feels no less momentous and her heart is pounding with anticipation and worry. The peace talks _need_ to go well this time. Lexa seems to notice some change in her demeanour and brushes their little fingers together. The action would be imperceptible to an onlooker, an accident of their hands swinging as they walk. When Clarke looks up at her, she sees a small, reassuring smile and can’t help but reciprocate. She feels warmer, and somehow calmer.

The group reaches the council chambers and Clarke receives a few raised eyebrows from the older council members when she not only enters, but steps up to the large round table like she belongs there. It seems some of them have forgotten her previous ambassadorial role and consider her as simply a headstrong child. It occurs to her that most of them have never personally met Lexa and likely think the same of her.

It does not take long before _Heda_ has laid her expectations out in exchange for lifting the blockade. Disarmament. Technology and the expertise to use it. Complete cooperation. _Knowledge_. So many of the people in the room take immediate offense, it is difficult to hear any particular words. Not once does Lexa’s carefully schooled mask falter.

-

It’s hours later when a recess is called for the day. Some progress has been made, although the commander is being deliberately difficult with her demands. As the council members file out to check on their departments and retire to their quarters, Clarke slumps forward with a sigh. She feels Lexa’s hesitant fingertips not quite touching the small of her back and she looks up to meet her eyes. There is a question there. She straightens with a nod that says _I’m fine._

“Would you like a tour, commander?” she asks, gesturing to the doorway. She glances at Kane, who shrugs in approval, but makes no move to place himself in their company. Instead, he looks to Indra and the small group of warriors and asks them if they’d like something to eat or drink. Indra visibly rolls her eyes and acquiesces.

Clarke finds herself guiding Lexa through the interior of the Ark by herself, introducing her to curious passers-by. Lexa takes everything in her stride and nods in all the right places. Before she’s realised it, Clarke has given a whistle-stop tour of a few important areas – careful to avoid anything that could compromise security - and they find themselves in the corridor that leads to private quarters. She tells herself it was unintentional and slows to an awkward stop.

“There’s nothing actually interesting that way. I- we,” she finds herself stumbling uncharacteristically over her words. She takes a deep breath to find herself. “That is, Kane and some of the other councillors suggested that we should set up some quarters for you. I… didn’t want to assume anything.”

Whether _anything_ refers to Lexa staying in the temporary camp with the grounders or possibly, maybe, _perhaps_ spending time with Clarke remains screaming between them. To Lexa’s credit, she manages to only shift her weight uncomfortably.

“I hadn’t considered it. It’d cause fewer problems to stay with my own people, but I suppose it would be rude to refuse my host, wouldn’t it?” she says with a small, almost mischievous smile. “I’d also like a few moments to rest. Perhaps there’s also a bathroom I could use? It’s been a long day.”

Clarke scrunches her face up for a moment, remembering grounder sanitary arrangements with no fondness. There’s an en-suite attached to the room prepared for Lexa, so it seems only logical to go directly there.

It’s not a particularly large or impressive space compared to the tower in Polis, but it’s one of the bigger rooms and Lexa seems pleased to see the bed and comfortable looking seats. After some explanation over flushing mechanisms and faucets that could be considered a waste of water, Clarke settles herself on the couch to wait.

She finds herself thinking back on the last time they had seen each other, in the capital. Once Lexa was stable, feelings had boiled over and tears had been shed, they had shared a tight embrace and said almost-goodbyes and parted with yet more promises of _someday._ But now, at a different time in Arkadia, _someday_ still feels no closer. Perhaps they are doomed to snatch their _somedays_ in small chunks and clusters. Even meeting again in peace talks, there is a tension to their interactions.

Hearing a flush and loud curse at the noise, Clarke smiles to herself. Lexa is pottering in the bathroom, running water into the sink and there is the sound of the cabinet opening and closing as she noses about. It almost feels _normal,_ as though there is no promise of war if negotiations don’t go well.

When Lexa walks out of the bathroom almost a full ten minutes later, her face is bare of war paint and headpiece and the mud of travel. She has unstrapped her sword belt and carries it by the sheath. Clarke watches her lay it reverently on a dresser, and her breath hitches when Lexa begins to fumble with the clasp of her shoulder guard. It’s strange to be watching Lexa strip away tokens of leadership, leaving only the woman beneath. She all but leaps up and goes over to the wardrobe to fetch a hanger.

“It’s a little hot in here,” Lexa explains when she sheds her customary long black coat and hands it over. “And the lights in here are intense. Is it always this bright?”

“Space is cold,” Clarke says simply, chuckling at the idea that Lexa is so used to the warm orange glow of candlelight that she can’t stand the glare of Ark lighting. “And there are no windows in this section.”

With the coat off, face bare and long sleeves shoved up mid-forearm, Lexa suddenly looks younger and not at all commanding. The not-commander shifts from foot to foot as though she is tired but doesn’t want to admit it. It’s the stance Clarke saw so many times in Polis when it was just the two of them. She’s so used to being strong, it occurs to Clarke, that she doesn’t always know how to just _be_ around others.

“What do you want to do? We have the evening.”

Lexa looks nervous as she contemplates her answer, and stops mid shuffle. Her gaze drops to the floor and she licks her lips as she tries to find her words.

“May I hug you?” she asks quietly and part of Clarke melts. Clarke takes a step closer and opens her arms to coax her into them. She’s been desperate for this all day.

“Of course you can.”

The embrace is soft and firm at the same time. Lexa lets out a small noise halfway between a huff and a laugh as she tucks her chin over Clarke’s shoulder, her nose burying into blonde hair. Clarke’s left arm holds gently across Lexa’s back while her right hand runs soothing lines along her spine. She presses her lips tightly together and holds on, closing her eyes as they begin to sting.

“It really is good to see you,” Lexa breathes, and Clarke only nods, unable to break away or reply because she doesn’t want to let her tears to fall and change the moment. Her hand clenches, bunching up the fabric of Lexa’s shirt. They both cling on as though to let go would be to shatter.

“I missed you too,” Clarke manages to blurt into a dark mane of hair. She presses her lips to Lexa’s clothed shoulder and inhales wood smoke and pine needles and _fresh air_ and _Lexa_. “Everything’s a mess, with the blockade and the election and-”

Lexa draws back a little so they can look at one another. Clarke searches her face and is met with a terse smile.

“Tomorrow,” Lexa says. “We can talk about that tomorrow. For now, I’d just like to be with you.” She reaches down and takes Clarke’s hand in her own, rubbing her thumb across the back. She hesitates before she brings it up to her mouth and presses a gentle kiss on a knuckle.

Clarke smiles softly and pulls away to sit back down. Lexa sits at the end of the bed and begins to undo her braids. Clarke watches the whole thing tiredly.

It feels strange to be so close after so long, and not. A day of aggressive negotiations without being able to say so much as a kind word to each other has left affection overflowing. Clarke thinks she might be happy if the two of them could stay in this steel room with its bad lighting and poor ventilation forever.

When she’s finished, Clarke scoots forward and beckons Lexa to the couch. She wraps her arms around Lexa’s waist, clasping her fingers over her navel. Lexa leans back and her eyes flutter closed. Her own hands come to rest over Clarke’s. They fall slowly to rest on the couch, legs curled together, eyes closed. Clarke tells herself it’s just for a moment, time stolen for themselves.

“Is this going to happen every time we meet?” Clarke’s voice is low from resting her cheek on the cool leather armrest. “Do we dance around one another until we can sneak off and be alone?”

Without looking, Clarke can tell Lexa has the contemplative look on her face that means she’s trying to find a way to be gentle with bad news. The thumb caressing over the back of Clarke’s hand slows.

“Maybe,” is all she finally says. She wriggles and turns to lie facing Clarke, and her expression shows the conflict running through her mind. Clarke leans forward to press their lips briefly together in a light kiss and Lexa sinks deeper into the embrace.

“Maybe we shouldn’t think so hard,” her voice is barely a whisper.

 

 

When Clarke first wakes, it’s slow and warm and she’s not sure she wants to. She’s pressed into the back of the couch and there’s a soft weight against her front. She can’t feel her right arm. She opens her eyes and is looking down at a smooth collarbone draped with both blonde and brunette hair and she smiles sleepily. She wriggles deeper to rest her head there and drifts back to sleep.

The next time, she finds Lexa gazing at her, a dopey smile on her face. Clarke stretches her legs out a little and groans, taking in her surroundings. There’s no noise in the corridor so it’s likely still early. She aches a little from their sleeping arrangements, but decides it’s a good ache because of the warmth in her chest and the fingers entwined with her own. Lexa traces a free finger down her side and hums.

“Good morning,” Clarke ventures, her voice gravely from slumber. Lexa drops a lingering kiss on her cheek, lips spreading into a smile. When she draws back, Clarke sees the smile reaches her eyes and presses her own kiss between them, at the spot where a headpiece normally resides. Her hands reach up to tangle in dark curls and she can’t stifle her laugh as she pulls back to look properly.

“Your hair is a mess,” she chuckles, running her fingers through it. It’s a wild and unruly bush, far from the usual tamed and braided length it usually is. Lexa groans and buries her face in the crook of Clarke’s neck.

“It’s always like this,” she mumbles. Her weight drops onto Clarke slightly, as though she wants to go back to sleep. Just as Clarke thinks she may be drifting, Lexa rises back up with a sigh. “I suppose we should prepare for the day.”

“Probably,” Clarke says with a yawn and stretch. When she sees she isn’t moving, she gives Lexa a nudge and is met with an almost petulant pout. “Hey, it was your idea.”

“You didn’t have to agree so quickly.”

Clarke’s eyes flick to the door. She wants time to freeze where it is so she doesn’t have to leave and face the outside world.

“I can’t believe we fell asleep,” she mutters, and Lexa’s eyes drop.

“We should be more careful. Would anyone have checked on you last night?”

Clarke considers for a moment. She suspects Octavia would know exactly where she is and hopes she wouldn’t say anything to anyone. She’s more worried about Abby, who has been hovering worriedly since her return from Polis.

“My mom might have at some point. I’ll talk to her later.”

Lexa nods her head briefly and begins to extract herself from the mess of limbs. Once sitting, she caresses Clarke’s arm and looks down with a fond smile on her lips.

“Later, I wasn’t sure if you would want to…” Lexa pauses and clears her throat, “We both have duties to perform here, but if there’s free time I would like to spend it with you. To talk with you, of course.”

Clarke nods. Of course there’s the risk of being caught together, but the pang in her chest tells her it would hurt less than nothing at all.

“If we can be discreet,” she adds. “No more accidental sleep overs. There’s too much at stake.”

-

Clarke manages to retreat to her own room without being seen to wash and change, and Lexa to the grounder encampment to do the same. She has her personal affects moved to the provided room. The grounders ask no questions of their commander, but Abby is curious and Octavia is rolling her eyes heavily. Clarke barely escapes a motherly inquisition when Kane comes to announce it’s time to reconvene.

Again, both Lexa and the Skaikru council butt heads for hours. Lexa has foregone her war paint this time, but is no less intimidating for it. She argues as though born for it, and it amuses Clarke, because she _was._ The back and forth sees Clarke herself arguing both sides fervently when demands are outrageous or compromises lacklustre.

When they break for lunch, Lexa offers to host the council at the grounder camp, and more than half agree. Others make their excuses and shuffle out sheepishly. If she’s offended, Lexa does not show it, and leads everyone outside. Clarke is impressed that she’s memorised at least some of the maze-like corridors so quickly.

When they reach the cluster of tents, there is a stew bubbling gently over an open fire and bread rolls piled on a borrowed table. There are mugs to be filled from a cask of sweet smelling mead and wooden bowls stacked ready to be used. An elderly grounder who looks like he’s never seen combat ladles out the stew and offers a toothless grin as he does so.

Clarke takes her portion and examines it. The broth is thick and there are root vegetables and chunks of meat throughout. There are tastes she’s never experienced and there’s something inherently comforting about eating it by the fire. The other councillors seem to think the same, and are beginning to relax and talk amongst themselves. The toothless cook interjects with a few jokes in an awkward accent.

Abby comes to sit next to Clarke but doesn’t immediately bring up the topic that had been avoided earlier. It’s not until Clarke is mopping up the last of the broth with her bread that she actually speaks.

“Sure beats nutrient paste, doesn’t it?” Abby offers. Mother and daughter have patched their strained relationship over the past few months, but barely. Clarke agrees and leans forward to stand, but is stopped when Abby gives her a concerned look. “Please tell me you’re not planning anything stupid with the commander.”

Clarke wishes she were surprised. She sighs a laugh and shakes her head, sparing a glance at Lexa. The commander is passing her bowl off and talking with a particularly animated councillor. She can’t hear the particulars, but Clarke thinks they’re probably discussing the food.  

“There’s nothing to plan, mom.”

Abby looks sceptical.

“So if I were to ask you where you were last night-,”

“I fell asleep,” Clarke snaps a little too quickly. She takes a calming breath and tries again. “We were catching up; I fell asleep on her couch. It’s no big deal.”

“I didn’t realise you were that close,” Abby says, her eyebrows raised. Clarke studies the floor and shakes her head. It doesn’t feel like the right time to have this conversation. They’re in public, and she’s not entirely sure she could put a name to what she and Lexa are.

“It wasn’t exactly planned. Yesterday was kind of draining.”

At last, Abby relents. There’s suspicion written in her eyes and the crease of her brow, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she simply takes Clarke’s empty bowl and lays a hand soothingly on a tense shoulder.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?” she asks in a quiet, concerned voice. Clarke looks her in the eye and sees the worry there and nods. It’s not entirely sincere and she thinks Abby knows that. Part of her wants to scream that everything is fine with Lexa, _better_ than fine. Her relationship with her mother has been difficult for a long time, but she wants to be honest. She wants to not feel like a secret is burning away at her insides and melting her restraint away.

Clarke catches Lexa looking at her and stands up, smoothing her shirt. She says goodbye to her mother and heads back inside. Her boots clunk along the dark metal corridors until she finds herself at the library she used to visit with Wells. Her stomach swirls as she remembers studying with him and sneaking books out past the sensors and playing chess together – and hating him for something he didn’t do.

The room is dimly lit to protect the ancient pages, but it isn’t really necessary. The books aren’t as fragile as some claim, and they’re barely looked at these days because most are catalogued electronically. Clarke walks through the shelves, running a hand along the spines of various volumes as she passes them.

She reaches the middle of the room and spots the table she and Wells used to study at. A layer of dust suggests nobody has been here in some time. The chairs normally around it have been stacked against the wall for some reason, so she takes two and places them in their proper places. She sits and stares at the empty space where her friend should be. There’s a scratched mark on the table where one rebellious night Wells had tallied their chess wins. Clarke runs a finger over it, fondly remembering simpler times.

At that moment, Clarke thinks she’d do anything to have Wells back beside her. He had been her best friend and someone she’d truly trusted. He’d sacrificed so much for her happiness and safety, and she’d hated him for it. She’s glad she’d learned the truth before he died, but the memory still hurts.

She shakes her head at her foolishness. Clarke always tries to be the kind of person who doesn’t dwell on the past she can’t change, but has so little success it doesn’t seem worth it. _I miss you_ is something that runs through her mind more often than she’d like. She misses Wells, she misses her dad, she misses Finn, and even though she knows she’s fine and outside _right now_ , she misses Lexa. 

Clarke stops her finger over the scratched tally mark and taps it one last time. She breathes in deeply and the smell of old books fills her. Wells had loved the stories within these books, and claimed the scent was something powerful, a trigger to the memory of them. Clarke tries to recall a book he had loved and comes up blank.

With one last look around the dust covered room, she stands and returns to the council chambers.

\--

When deliberations are over later that day, Clarke waits until Lexa looks in her direction then flexes her hand out twice in a way that she hopes will be understood as _ten minutes_. Lexa flicks her long lashes up and gives a barely discernible nod before turning back to Indra. Clarke excuses herself and makes a quick stop by the cafeteria to grab her rations. She takes her meal with her to Lexa’s quarters.

Two guards sporting the red sash of Heda wait stoically outside and make no attempt to stop her entering. The room has been made a strange amalgamation of grounder and arkadian. The metal floors have been covered with woven mats, there are furs on the bed. Someone has disabled the sensor that turns the lights on and instead there is the warm glow of candles, which makes Clarke smirk.

It’s been almost half an hour when Lexa turns up. Clarke has finished eating and has resorted to reading a meeting report on her data pad. Lexa has her own plate of unappetising ark food in her hand. She looks apologetic as she taps the button that closes the door.

“I couldn’t get away,” she explains, motioning to the food. She looks embarrassed for a moment before continuing, “and I got a little lost. The hallways all look the same.”

Clarke shrugs her agreement and continues to read as Lexa eats. It’s dry and doesn’t shed any new light on anything, but it’s something to do.

“The talks should be done tomorrow,” Lexa says between mouthfuls, “or the morning after.”

Clarke looks up questioningly.

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve had more or less the same talks eleven times before, Clarke.”

There’s a smirk on Lexa’s face and Clarke rolls her eyes. She puts down the screen she was reading from and folds her arms across her chest.

“Of course,” she mutters. Lexa ignores the comment and finishes eating. She places her plate on top of Clarke’s.

“I hope so anyway.”

Clarke studies her and sees she’s perhaps even more tired than the day before.

“Will you be leaving soon after?”

Her question is quiet.

“Well,” Lexa stands and brushes non-existent crumbs from her pants, “I’m not sure. I’d like to stay for a few days to understand Arkadia more. I want to get to know the people here.”

“You want to show them you’re trustworthy?”

It’s not such a weighted question as it would have been a few months ago, but it still hangs in the air for a moment.

“Yes,” Lexa half whispers it. She reaches down and holds out her hand. Clarke takes it. “I’d also like to spend time with you, of course.”

They share a smile and Clarke nods. Lexa is trying hard to maintain eye contact, but her gaze keeps falling to Clarke’s lips.

Before she knows what she’s doing, Clarke is kissing Lexa. It’s not desperate like it was in Polis, but it’s not gentle and it’s not calm and Lexa is kissing her back just as quickly. Clarke shudders and something changes, a hand touches gently at Clarke’s neck and pushes her back slightly. Lexa is pressing her lips together in a concerned line, looking at her with equal parts curiosity and barely constrained lust.

“Are you alright?” she asks, thumb caressing over Clarke’s cheek. Her gaze is intense and her lips part slightly and Clarke desperately wants to feel them on her own. She resists the urge to ignore the question. She’s had enough of running away from her feelings.

“Not really,” Clarke admits, sitting down after a moment. She explains the library and how she desperately misses Wells and the friendship they once had. “I just wish I had someone to talk to about… well, everything.”

Lexa nods and places her hand on Clarke’s knee. She squeezes gently to draw Clarke’s eyes to her own. She understands and tries to say that in the softness of her gaze and the lift of her eyebrows. The ghost of a smile on Clarke’s lips says she appreciates it.

 

 

Clarke spends the night in her own room, and is glad of it because Abby comes to check on her first thing in the morning. She talks about how she feels a proper alliance is close.

“The thought almost worries me,” Abby says as she walks with Clarke to the cantina for breakfast.

“Peace worries you?” Clarke scoffs at the idea and shoves her left hand into her pocket to play with a loose thread there.

“More the idea that you’ll go running back to Polis to play ambassador.”

Clarke does her best to act like it had never crossed her mind. She stops walking, schools her face into one of confusion and shakes her head.

“That’s not up to me, mom,” she says when Abby turns to look at her. It’s not up to her, and it’s not up to Lexa, and it hurts to remember that.

“Maybe not, but you’d still prefer to be there.”

In truth, Clarke does miss Polis. She misses her huge room and the freedom to go wherever she pleases. She misses the guards she’d become familiar with and the handmaid who would sneak her extra honey cakes. She misses the feeling of being looked at with something other than veiled mistrust. At least when grounders were mistrustful, they showed it openly.

Clarke doesn’t want to start an argument, not today, so she shrugs and looks away. Abby drops the subject and they retrieve their rations. They don’t sit together. Abby joins the other councillors, while Clarke takes a seat by Raven and Bellamy.

“Gracing us with your presence, Princess?” Bellamy shoots a smile over his mug. “You’ve been busy lately.”

Clarke shrugs and Raven offers a ‘ _sup_ between spoonfuls of the grey slop in her bowl. The winter had been harsh and Arkadia has been down to its last reserves of food for some time now. Nothing they have left is particularly appetising.

“It’s a shame we lost hydroponics with farm station. You think the grounders will send us something better once we’re under the commander’s thumb?” Raven asks, filling her spoon and emptying it back into the bowl in a show of disgust. Clarke eyes her own and wrinkles her nose.

“They’ll probably show us how to grow our own food, maybe help us until we can harvest. I don’t really know.”

“You’re in those meetings all day and you don’t know?” Bellamy looks somewhat confused.

“Nothing’s set in stone yet, but what’s the point in being the thirteenth clan if we all starve?”

The two of them share a look and Clarke feels she’s missing something.

“We have to get some decent hunting grounds once the blockade is lifted,” Bellamy presses on. “I’ve been doing some reading about balancing animal populations, different traps we can try. We’re gonna need a proper supply of meat.”

“Maybe we should get some chickens or-” Clarke is interrupted when a gaggle of grounders march into the hall.

At the lead of the group are two burly men carrying a deer between them. They barge through to the kitchens, followed by another three, each with a large sack across their shoulders. Bringing up the rear is Indra who makes brief eye contact with Clarke and offers an awkward nod. She doesn’t look pleased to be there, so it’s likely by order.

“Looks like we were too early for the good stuff,” Raven mutters as she finishes her food.

Bellamy watches nervously as the grounders re-emerge, chased out by a cook but minus their cargo. His look is mirrored by Arkadians all around, as though they expect a confrontation. The tension only raises when the general steps in front of her men and digs into a deep pocket of her coat. Bellamy is moving to stand, looking around desperately for a guard, when Clarke puts a hand on his arm. Indra hands over a jar and the cook _thanks_ her.

“They’re not here to hurt us,” Clarke hisses. Bellamy looks doubtful and Raven pointedly runs a finger along the scar on her arm - the scar that Lexa gave her.

Clarke sighs and shakes her head, looking into her bowl. She understands their concerns, they’re the same as those brought up a thousand times in the talks already, the same she often has herself. The grounders are a naturally warlike people; they don’t do anything if it doesn’t benefit them. What she’s come to realise is that her own people are the same.

“Please, just give them a chance. They’re already giving us one.”

Bellamy looks incredulous.

“Tell that to Finn, and Gina, and Monroe, and the countless other people slaughtered since we got here.”

“How many of them have we killed? And yet here we are. Both sides have lost so much but we’re still here, working it out. We need to stop fighting each other if we want to live down here. If the grounders can see that, why can’t you?”

 Bellamy shifts in his seat. He and Clarke have barely spoken since her return, other than muttered apologies and sorrowful glances. He’s less angry than he had been following the Ice Nation attack, since the blockade, since Pike’s impeachment, since he’d been ordered to lay down his weapons or face prison. Clarke has seen him recently, reading with some of the younger kids and showing them the difference between various herbs. She thinks the role suits him better than warrior.

 “How do we know the commander won’t just abandon us again?”

Bellamy’s question doesn’t surprise Clarke; she had thought the same thing several times back in Polis. When she thinks about it, there’s little she can say to persuade him. She doesn’t want to speak about a vow from a different time, not meant for his ears. She can’t explain how she knows Lexa won’t betray them.

“She won’t,” is all she says, firmly.

-

By early evening, it’s clear that Lexa’s estimate about the negotiations will prove right. Both sides have backed down from the demands they never expected to be granted, and agreements are being made. Everything should be set out, then finalised and signed the next morning. Clarke thinks it’s perhaps best that nobody has mentioned the grounder tradition of mixing blood to form a pact.

As the meeting begins to wind down and the councillors look more comfortable in their seats, Lexa brings up a less urgent, but still important matter.

“We will require an ambassador to speak for your clan in Polis. It should be someone who knows the people well and has experience in leading. For most clans, a new ambassador is elected or put forward each summer solstice. It will be for you to decide how best to represent yourself to the other clans.”

Clarke squares her shoulders as her mother and half the council look unashamedly at her. She doesn’t volunteer or say anything, but she would jump at the opportunity to go back.

“Of course, this is not a decision that I have any power to make,” Lexa continues, looking around the room at each of the people gathered. “However, I’d like to suggest Councillor Griffin for the role.”

There’s a stunned silence, Abby herself seems taken aback by her impromptu endorsement. Clarke furrows her brows and struggles to process the idea for a moment.

“Doctor Griffin is our head physician,” an elderly council member sputters out. “She’s indispensable!”

Lexa looks passively at the man; she’s clearly considered this.

“As I said, I have no wish to force this point. I simply wish to suggest the person I feel best suited. It’s a matter to be discussed between yourselves. It is only a temporary position at this time, the summer solstice is six weeks away. You’re welcome to elect another, but do not leave your clan without a voice in Polis.”

Clarke watches as Lexa and her entourage leave the room, feels the eyes of half a dozen councillors rest on her.

“Is this what you were planning?” Abby asks, voice shaky. Clarke rolls her eyes and lets out a harsh sigh.

“No, I told you we weren’t planning anything. It’s as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.”

-

After leaving the council to their deliberations, Clarke heads back to her own room. She pauses at the corner she could turn to reach Lexa’s, but decides she would rather not see her right now.

There’s a book stolen from the library on the bedside table, and she attempts to pick up where an old photograph marks where she left off. The rational part of Clarke’s mind tells her not to be angry, to understand that her mother is actually a good choice for ambassador. The other part is furious and won’t let her focus on the page in front of her. She glares at the same passage for fifteen minutes before she slams the book shut and tosses it aside with a huff. She stands and paces, trying to think of something to do, trying not to think too hard about Polis, trying to stop thinking about _why_.

Just when she sits down and is about to try reading again, there is a knock at the door. Any Arkadian would use the intercom, so she knows it’s Lexa. With a roll of her eyes, she approaches the door and presses the talk button.

“I don’t really want to talk to you right now, Lexa,” she says, leaning her head against the cold metal wall. There is silence from the intercom, but there’s shuffling and murmurs on the other side of the door. Clarke is about to open the door in frustration just to shut it in Lexa’s face when the intercom crackles.

“Clarke, open the damn door so I can leave.”

It’s Octavia, Clarke is surprised to hear her voice. She fumbles with the talk button, opening and closing her mouth to find something to say. Resigned, she flicks the door switch and it slides open to reveal Octavia, glowering, and Lexa, standing higher over her but appearing small and nervous.

“Fantastic,” Octavia all but growls and spins on her heels, stalking away.

Lexa stands awkwardly in the threshold, hands tucked together behind her back.

“I asked her to show me where you might be,” she explains. There’s a small tremor in her voice that tells Clarke she’s unsure if it was the right thing to do. Clarke looks her up and down tiredly and sighs, stepping aside.

“Come in.”

The door slides closed, and Lexa doesn’t sit when Clarke gestures at a chair. She stands by a shelf which holds only an old data pad, notebook and a few pencils. She looks the items over while Clarke leans against the wall, waiting pointedly.

“She was the best choice,” Lexa says eventually, turning to look Clarke in the eye. Clarke chokes out a bitter laugh and slumps back. To Lexa’s credit, she doesn’t shrink back, but continues. “Your mother, I mean, for ambassador. She has the experience; she knows what your people want -”

“And she’s my mother,” Clarke interrupts, pushing herself upright. “I told you last night that I needed someone to talk to, and today you want to take her away.”

“I’m sorry Clarke, I didn’t realise that you -”

“I _don’t_ talk with her. But I could. And if they choose her, based on your recommendation, I can’t.”

Lexa nods.

“I want her to know Polis and our people, to understand that we are not so different.” She breathes deeply before she speaks again. “I want every sky-person to feel safe in the coalition, including you. If I’d recommended you,” she pauses, clears her throat, “If you’re in Polis so soon…”

Clarke watches Lexa reach out and grip the edge of the shelf, running her fingers over the smooth metal surface as though grounding herself.

“I don’t want anyone to think I favour you.” Clarke remains silent, sensing there’s more to come. “At least not yet, while tensions are still high. If I can convince Abby that we can live in peace, then we can convince her that we… that we’ll be safe.”

“I’m capable of taking care of myself, Lexa.”

“I know that. She would only be there for six weeks, and I want to know her and show her that I’m not trying to undermine your judgement.” Lexa is confident in her words now, as though she’s rehearsed them. “You’re a good ambassador but I can’t be seen to favour Skaikru any more than I already have. I couldn’t suggest you, not after you stayed beyond the blockade. I set the kill order and made you an exception.”

“Lexa, you were shot -” Clarke pushes off the wall and takes a step closer.

“And now I’ve healed. I owe my life to you, Clarke, and I care for you more than I should, more than I dared think I could. We are still building the peace we both want, and I can’t single you out as special to me. I thought I had been careful with Costia, but I still lost her. I couldn’t bear to lose you the same way.”

Clarke feels her anger crumble.

“So you’re taking my mother away because you care about me?” Clarke tries to joke, but it falls flat. They’re in dangerous territory, very close to talking about the nature of their relationship. She takes Lexa’s hand from the shelf and leads her over to sit on the edge of her bed. Their fingers remain entwined between them.

“I care about you too,” Clarke tries again, more seriously. “I know why you suggested her over me, I understand that. I just wish you would have talked to me about it first. I may not be close with my mom, but I don’t want to be left in the dark if you’re planning something for her.”

Clarke knows that’s how Lexa operates most of the time. Having spent so long as a lone leader, she bounces ideas around by herself before even considering consulting anyone else. Heda’s word is normally law.

“If we’re going to continue our relationship, we need to talk about things that concern family.”

Lexa turns quickly to look at Clarke’s face. Her eyes shine with unhidden hope and - a moment later - worry. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she finds words.

“Our relationship? But I thought after everything in Polis-”

“Yeah, I know. We said we’d see what happened in the future. But it seems we can’t keep away from one another.” Clarke meets her gaze and holds it. “And I don’t think you have a habit of kissing all your ex-ambassadors.”

The small smile on Lexa’s lips makes Clarke’s heart jump in her chest. She moves to cup Lexa’s face with her free hand. She kisses her gently, feeling her relax for the first time since entering the room.

“We’ll keep being discreet,” Clarke murmurs, caressing a high cheekbone. “We’re good at keeping secrets.” 

“Safe?” Lexa whispers, sounding unsure. She’s gripping Clarke’s hand tightly.

“As safe as we can be.”

Lexa lets out a shaky breath and a half laugh.

“I wasn’t expecting this when I came here,” she admits. There’s conflict in her eyes but she’s still smiling.

“We’re building a better future for our people, and that includes us too.”

 

 

The next morning, terms are formally set and agreed to within the council chambers. It’s agreed that there will be a ceremony later in the evening to inform the Arkadian population and avoid any confusion. The gathering is to be announced over the loudspeaker system and attendance is mandatory for all but essential personnel.

Before the talks conclude, Kane gestures for Abby to step forward.

“Commander,” he begins brightly. “After discussing the matter last night, the council has come to the decision that Abby Griffin is indeed the best current candidate for our ambassador in Polis. With your blessing, we would like her to travel with you to the capital.”

Lexa glances at Clarke from the corner of her eye and nods.

“Of course, chancellor.” She turns her attention to Abby herself. “We will escort you to Polis tower and see that you’re given comfortable accommodation.”

Clarke has nothing to add and once again isn’t surprised she wasn’t consulted, so she excuses herself soon after Lexa announces she’ll be staying for a few days to learn more about Skaikru culture. She feels like she’s hiding from her people a lot these past few days and wonders if anyone has noticed.

-

When her mother finds her hours later, huddled up on her bed with her stolen book, she isn’t surprised. She actually wonders why it took her so long. Abby lets herself into Clarke’s room without announcing her presence and frowns at her reading material.

“Great Expectations?”

Clarke simply shrugs.

“Are you enjoying it?” Abby tries. Clarke shrugs again.

“It’s not all I’d hoped for,” she stares over the top of her current page, waiting for the point of this visit to appear. Instead, her mother settles herself on the edge of the desk, arms crossed over her chest.

“I wanted to talk to you about being ambassador. I-,” Abby studies the floor for a moment. “I don’t want you to think of this as me stopping you from going back.”

Clarke plucks her bookmark from the back and snaps her book shut around it. She runs her fingers over the frayed hardback, squeezing it just to feel its weight. She definitely wants to hear the explanation to this change of heart.

“I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want to. Hell, the commander backs you up most of the time. If you really want to go to Polis, it’s your choice.”

Clarke is taken aback enough to finally set the book aside and sit up a little straighter.

The two women look at each other, waiting for the other to speak when a soft knock sounds on the metal door. Clarke’s face must have panic written on it, because Abby startles and moves her hands to push herself upright. The intercom sparks to life a couple of times before anyone speaks.

“Is this the right button?”

It takes all of Clarke’s strength not to smash her own head back into the wall in frustration. Of course Lexa would choose now to check in with her. She stands and walks to the door, her mother’s eyes following every step.

“Yes commander, just one moment,” she bites out through the intercom, hoping her tone will at least give her some warning. She jabs the door button, and Lexa stands there, momentarily confused, but she quickly gathers her wits.

“Clarke, I wished to talk to you about the ambassadorship. Councillor Griffin, it’s good you’re here, although I hadn’t expected to see you.”

Abby looks between the two young women, somewhat perplexed.

“It’s normal for each ambassador to brief the next before the role is passed on. I simply wanted to ensure that the transition goes smoothly.”

“Thank you, commander,” Clarke says awkwardly, entirely sure that this hadn’t been what Lexa intended at all. “That’s actually what we were discussing.”

“I see. In that case, I’ll leave you to it,” she’s trying to make a quick exit and avoid awkwardness, but it’s already there as Abby is trying to put the pieces together and failing.

“No,” Abby says slowly, as though she’s thinking through a puzzle. “Stay. I’d like to know more about what I’m getting into here.”

Lexa comes into the room fully, but remains standing.

“It’s fairly straight forward. You represent your people along with the ambassadors to the other twelve clans.”

“Trikru has an ambassador too? Surely you know what your own people would want.”

“Yes. I am Trikru, but I cannot represent them fairly because I must be impartial and consider the needs of all clans.”

Abby seems satisfied with that answer, and the three of them spend almost an hour going over what her duties will be and bouncing ideas off one another to improve relations with the other clans.

“It won’t be easy. Some still view Skaikru as an invader. Clarke did well with the wisdom of her decisions, but Pike’s attacks on our people have not made yours popular. You will be walking into a hostile environment.”

With a sigh, Abby pushes upright and nods.

“I hope we can all come to understand one another,” she says, looking meaningfully at Lexa. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure Jackson has everything he needs in place for when I leave. Think about what I said earlier, Clarke?”

She hesitates by the door, as if expecting Lexa to leave at the same time, but doesn’t say anything about it. After a moment, she leaves the room altogether, and Clarke flicks the close switch, swiftly followed by the lock. The mechanism engages with a satisfying click, and Clarke suddenly feels much more secure.

When Clarke turns back around, Lexa has made herself comfortable on the chair by her desk and is looking at the photograph sticking out from the book she’d been struggling to enjoy. When their eyes meet, it’s clear that Lexa recognises what she’s seeing, so Clarke picks it out from between the pages and smooths in on the table, suddenly aware of how ragged the corners have become. She hopes desperately that her mother didn’t see it.

“What is this?” Lexa asks.

“Do you remember, not long after we first met? This is how we found out we were being targeted by the mountain. We found this on one of their assassins.”

She points at the picture, still a little confused by the red circles around each of them, because they’re the only people in it.

“I didn’t realise they could stay above ground long enough to draw such detail.”

Clarke can’t help the smile creeping on her face, and shakes her head.

“No, they used tech to take this. It captures a picture in an instant.”

“I see,” Lexa says, her mouth working in a way that says she’s still processing the knowledge.

An idea forms in Clarke’s head, and she reaches for her old datapad. She browses to her collection of files, then pulls up her image folder.

“We used to take them on the ark, but we didn’t have the paper to print them out. Look, here’s one of me with Wells – the friend I told you about yesterday.”

It’s a candid her dad took while they were watching an old sports game. They’re laughing together about something, probably a ridiculous joke or failed bet. It feels distant.

“He looks trustworthy,” Lexa says. It’s a high compliment coming from her, and Clarke hadn’t expected it. She gulps down the feelings bubbling up and flicks to the next image, one of her parents cuddled up on the old family couch.

“That’s my dad. He died about a year before we were sent here.”

“You have his eyes,” Lexa smiles. “And his courage.”

“You can tell that just from looking?”

“Of course.”

Clarke knows she’s being made fun of, but she doesn’t mind. She likes it, in fact. Lexa’s humour is somewhat stilted, not entirely formed, probably thanks to her strict upbringing, but it’s there. She’s only seen glimpses of it, but it’s something she wants to savour. She looks again at the pictures in front of her and wishes she could take one of Lexa like this, smiling and happy, instead of the unaware commander circled in red. Perhaps she can abscond with a camera later.

“So these are moments that you enjoy and want to keep?” Lexa’s looking between the image of her parents, and the one the mountain men took.

“Yes,” she replies with a shrug. “It’s not so much the moment that I wanted with this one. It’s something to remind me of you while I’m here, I guess.”

Lexa looks thoughtful for a moment, then nods.

“I don’t have anything to remind me of you.”

Clarke tries to think of something she can give, something that has a meaning for them, but comes up blank.

“We’ll have to think about that. For now, I think I’m just going to enjoy that we’re both here.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

There’s a genuine joy in Lexa’s eyes that Clarke can’t get enough of. She really wants to get some pictures of her like this. For now, she just grins and swings one leg over so she’s straddling Lexa on the chair. The woman beneath her squeaks in surprise and looks horrified that she made the noise. Clarke laughs and shoves her shoulder. Lexa’s torso twists and she winces and Clarke’s up and off her in a second.

“What, what is it? Are you hurt, is it the- the… are you okay?”

She’s searching for any sign of pain, any hint of a wound - _the_ wound. The one she’s still recovering from.

“I’m okay,” Lexa’s standing in front of her, soothing hand on her upper arm. She tries to focus on that. “I just moved too fast. It’s fine Clarke, I promise.”  

Clarke nods, seeing the worried face before her. It feels wrong that Lexa’s the one fretting when she’s the one with the wound.

“Have you… healed alright?”

She kicks herself for not asking earlier. Lexa’s been there for days, but the thing that had been on her mind since she arrived had gotten buried under the stresses of negotiation. Her eyes flick down to the torso of the thick black coat.

“I have,” Lexa assures her. Her hands move to the buckles around her midsection. “Would it help to check?”

The question is tentative and there’s something in the tone that says it’s alright to say _no_. Instead, she nods and goes to sit on the edge of her bed, and positions Lexa in front of her, standing between her legs. 

 Lexa unbuckles her coat and shrugs it off. She holds it for a moment where Clarke thinks she might fold it, but instead she drapes it over the back of the chair. A look passes between them, and Clarke reaches out to take the hem of Lexa’s shirt. Lexa nods reassuringly, a soft smile on her face.

Clarke lifts the shirt cautiously, holding it in place with one hand. She looks at the scar underneath. It’s a few months old and still dark and raised, but it’s not gushing blood and Clarke can breathe knowing that. She shudders at the memory flashing through her mind. Lexa takes Clarke’s chin and lifts it so their eyes meet.

“I’m okay,” she repeats.

“Can you move alright? Maybe my mom could take a look, just to be sure there’s no fragments from the bullet-”

“Clarke,” it’s firmer this time, “I will see her if it makes you feel better, but I’m fine. A twinge now and again, but I promise you I’m alright.”

At last, Clarke nods reluctantly and lowers her eyes back to the scar. It’s smaller than some of the others that litter Lexa’s torso, but it’s the one she knows best and it’s the one that scares her the most. She touches a finger to it, almost afraid that it will come away stained black. When it doesn’t, she leans in close and presses her lips there.

“You’re alright,” the words are mumbled against the raised flesh and Clarke lets the shirt fall to snake her arms around and hold Lexa tightly against her cheek. Lexa’s hand rests on her head and caresses with a reassuring rhythm. “I didn’t want to leave you in Polis like that.”

“I know,” the hand stops for a moment and then resumes. “You did everything you could, and I’m just lucky you were there. You saved my life.”

“If I hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have been shot,” Clarke snorts in protest.

“You _saved_ my life,” Lexa reiterates, taking Clarke’s face in her hands to look at her properly. “It was never your fault.”

Clarke nearly believes it. She can’t meet Lexa’s eyes, and Lexa doesn’t force her to. Instead, she wraps her arms around Clarke’s neck and pulls her in tight. Clarke’s cheek is flush against her stomach and she can feel the warmth and life radiating through her clothes. Smooth patterns are run along Clarke’s scalp and she closes her eyes to bask in the moment they’ve stolen from the real world.

The only movement they make for the next few minutes is a gentle sway from Lexa as she shifts her weight from foot to foot. Clarke spends the time turning her mind to the more pleasant memories of Polis to block out the bad. She turns her head up, her chin and the tip of her nose still pressing into Lexa’s shirt.

The fabric is soft and Clarke presses kisses into the spots she knows scars exist. A gasp from above encourages her, and she inhales deeply through her nose and continues to trail her lips over the garment. Her hands bunch the material and lift it again. Her lips scatter more kisses softly along the battle worn skin, teeth graze over the most raised of the scars – except the most recent, which she can’t bear to attend.

“Clarke.”

Lexa pulls back to search her face at the sudden turn. Clarke smiles to let her know she’s alright. She tugs on Lexa’s arm to get her to sit beside her on the bed. Their mouths meet a moment later and Clarke’s hands move down to tuck her thumbs into the belt-loops of Lexa’s pants. She gives a playful yank to bring her closer. Fingers curl around Clarke’s waist and pull her so she’s angled slightly over Lexa. Their kisses aren’t the tender pecks that they’ve shared over the past few days, there’s desire and need and _want_ laced in the slide of lips on lips. Clarke gives a quick nip and swipes her tongue forth, deepening the connection.

Lexa is braver than she was in Polis, and palms firmly at Clarke’s clothed breast, rolling over the flesh and squeezing. Clarke grins into her mouth, pleased at the action. She laughs and pushes harder, only to be met by an answering push. There’s a part of her that wants to go slow, to take her time, but there will be other occasions for that. The push and pull is so very different and new that almost saddens Clarke that they have so little time to explore it. The treaty announcement will commence soon, and neither of them can miss it.

Urged on by the realisation, she grips tightly at Lexa’s hip and dips her fingertips questioningly below her waistline. The reactive thrust forward tells her all she needs to know, and she shifts her left hand to the buttons on Lexa’s pants, undoing them one after the other. A hitch in Lexa’s breath spurs her on. She turns her wrist and slides her hand into the opening, straying past underwear and into the patch of neatly trimmed dark curls she knows awaits her.

Clarke’s mouth strays from Lexa’s, moving along her jawline to nip playfully at her earlobe before latching onto her throat. She’s careful not to leave an obvious mark – they are being _discreet_ after all. Lexa’s free hand drops down to caress her ass, kneading and pulling and it’s clear that she needs more.

Clarke slides her hands down to cup at Lexa’s backside. She scrapes her teeth along Lexa’s pulse point before moving away, and has her lift herself for a second. Lexa looks down through dark, hooded eyes as her pants and underwear are drawn slowly down to her knees, then yanked to pool around the tops of her boots. Gentle fingers skirt over Clarke’s cheek as she traces patterns over Lexa’s thighs.

Lexa hikes Clarke’s worn grey shirt up and off and drops it to one side. Clarke leans in to join their mouths again, savouring in the warm, slippery heat while her bra clasp is found and undone. She shucks the offending garment and grabs Lexa’s hand to bring it up and grasp at a full breast.

“Lexa,” Clarke murmurs, the nipple quickly rising and stiffening under her ministrations. It feels so right to hold and be held. It feels so good to be _wanted._

She wraps one arm around Lexa’s back and runs the other in a smooth path over neck, shoulders, collarbones and lingers over pert breasts. She rolls a nipple gently before scraping her nails lightly down over a recovery-softened abdomen. A moment later, her fingers slide up and over Lexa’s centre. She cups her sex, pressing the heel of her palm down and loving the jerk she gets in response.

“Please,” the word is breathed, encouraging and needy.

Clarke breaks away and settles on her knees, her intent clear as she leans in and licks a clean line along Lexa’s inner thigh. She hears a gasp from above and surges forward, her tongue held flat as she runs it from the back to the front of her folds. She doesn’t delve further yet, but flicks her eyes up to see Lexa staring back at her, eyes half closed in anticipation, lips parted. It feels exhilarating to be _needed_.

They hold for a moment, before Clarke moves her tongue again, sliding over and flicking at the hooded nub. She breathes deep through her nose and sucks the labia into her mouth for a second and lets go, an audible pop ringing out. She grins up at Lexa, seeing her return the expression. Long fingers snake into her hair, a gentle pressure urging her to continue.

She goes to work properly, parting the folds with her thumbs and blowing a tickling breath out to make Lexa squirm. She dips down, licking a slow spiral around Lexa’s opening, moaning when wetness begins to coat her. Satisfied with the progress, she slides further up to ghost the tip of her tongue over the hood of Lexa’s clit, pleased to feel it peeking out. She adds more pressure, sweeping over with more urgency.

Clarke’s own centre throbs jealously, and she can’t resist sliding her own hand into her pants to attend her aching sex while she tucks in. She laps greedily at Lexa’s clit, adjusting each time fingernails dig into her scalp and she hears hisses of pleasure above her.

A fresh sluice of wetness leaks onto her chin and she wipes over its source with her spare hand, smiling when Lexa’s hips buck up into the touch. She coats her middle finger, preparing it to push inside when the fingers in her hair disentangle and cling to her shoulders, pulling her up for a wet, bruising kiss.

Lexa groans at the taste of herself in Clarke’s mouth. Suddenly Clarke’s on her back and her pants are being jerked from her legs only to get caught. Lexa curses and frantically tugs at her bootlaces. The offending items are loosened and tossed aside, and Clarke props herself on her elbows to watch as Lexa pulls her own shirt up and over her head, her movements frantic in her desperation to be bare. She stumbles with her laces, but her heavy boots are eventually chucked across to join the growing pile of clothing.

At last, Lexa finishes undressing and she sinks down over Clarke until they’re skin to skin again. Lexa runs her palm over her stomach, bringing their mouths back together in a heated, breathy exchange. Clarke reaches down to grab at her ass and pull her closer between her legs. Her breath catches in her throat as Lexa breaks away from their kiss and latches onto a nipple, sucking and teasing at the peak with her tongue.

Clarke clings to Lexa’s back encouragingly as a free hand traces a lingering pattern over her skin, down, down, _down_ until the pointer and middle glide through wetness. A gasp escapes as Lexa’s fingers begin to swirl around her clit, sped by their slippery coating.

Lexa releases her nipple with a slick slurping sound and lifts herself, swinging one leg over Clarke’s. She pulls Clarke to a higher angle and settles over her thigh so wet heat is slippery on her smooth skin. Clarke drags her up to bring their mouths back together, breath coming quick and sharp when long fingers probe at her entrance.

Lexa sinks in, thumbing over her clit as she does. Clarke tightens her hold, mouth falling open as a steady rhythm of push, _curl_ , pull is set, revelling in the motion. Feeling Lexa buck on her thigh, she slides her hands down to curl around the generous hips. She encourages the contact, matching the rhythm to the thrusts she’s enjoying. Her inner muscles clench at the sight of Lexa riding her, and the speed increases, the breathing in her ear coming in quick, short puffs.

Lexa sees her struggling to contain herself and kisses her, sharp and panting, both fast approaching their release. Clarke can feel herself fluttering around Lexa’s fingers, feels Lexa’s hips falter in their movements and breaks away to look up at the adoring face gazing down at her, plump bottom lip sucked between her teeth. Warmth blossoms in her chest and white pulses behind her eyes. She screws them shut and digs her nails into the pliable flesh of Lexa’s hips, her climax hitting her in hard waves that force her entire body to jerk and her toes to curl.

Moments later, breathing still laboured, she comes back to herself, hazy eyed and smiling. She watches as Lexa continues to ride her, muscles taut and quivering as she chases her orgasm. Her eyes flutter closed as Clarke shifts one hand, keeping the humping rhythm going with the other and pinches at her clit, eager to help in any way she can. A moan rings out and Lexa shudders, stalling in her movements. Clarke watches her come apart with a sort of wonder, rolling her palm against her hip, grounding her and bringing her back down through the shudders that wrack through her.

Lexa collapses on her, spent and breathing hard. Clarke leaves her sensitive clit and runs her fingers up and over a sweat sheened shoulder blade, bringing her down with gentle movements.

“I was not expecting this at all,” Lexa murmurs into her ear a moment later, voice soft and exhausted but sated – happy.

Clarke kisses at Lexa’s neck and strokes fingers through dark hair.

“We don’t have long,” she reminds her, gently. Lexa simply hums in response. “I need to take a shower.”

Lexa huffs out a breath and rolls off her, and Clarke laughs when she sees the dramatic, spread-eagle pose she assumes. Limbs are askew, an arm is draped theatrically over her eyes.

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“You should go on without me, Clarke, I don’t think I can get up.”

“I guess we’ll have to have the announcement in here then,” Clarke finds herself grinning at the absurdity. “That’s a real shame, I don’t think the council will be at all intimidated to see you sprawled out naked, with hair that screams you just had sex.”

Lexa lifts the arm not on her face and waves dismissively. Clarke can see her own juices glistening on the forefingers as it catches the light and swallows on nothing.

“If I ask nicely, I’m sure you’ll do my war paint.”

Clarke props herself up on one elbow. She thinks back to their time in Polis and before, and she can’t remember ever seeing Lexa so comfortable – so normal. She can’t even think of a recent time when she herself was as relaxed. They’d come close, certainly, when they’d fallen into bed last time, but that had been about desperately needing to use the little time they had. Now that they’ve had the chance to talk things through and are aware that there might actually be _something_ for them on the horizon, they can enjoy it more and relax.

“You’re just trying to avoid getting ready,” Clarke laughs. She traces over Lexa’s side. She’s not trying to initiate anything further; she just feels the need to touch her.

“Are you joking? I spend my days in Polis listening to ambassadors drone on, why would I want to do the same in Arkadia?” Lexa strokes over Clarke’s eyebrow. She’s smiling another of those soft smiles Clarke desperately wants to capture. “We should probably wash and change though.”

Clarke extracts herself from the bed and immediately misses Lexa’s warmth.

“You should head to your room, there’s a shower in there. I’ll head somewhere else.”

Lexa surveys the clothing scattered around the room. With a sigh, she rises and goes about collecting those that belong to her.  

“It’s going to be rather conspicuous when we both arrive wet.”

Clarke stares at her, head tilted to the side, unsure if Lexa understands what she just said.

“Our _hair,_ Clarke.”

Clarke just smiles and beckons her over for a sweet, lingering kiss that she’ll feel all evening.

**Author's Note:**

> This may extend into a series of oneshots about significant moments on the ground.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at the--peripheral


End file.
